The Monster
by concisponci
Summary: The third time she sees him, he's storming after her, devoid of the two swords she's seen him with before. He turns her around and wraps his reddened hands around her white throat, cutting off her air. Sometimes, she can still feel them there.
1. Prologue

_Prologue_

* * *

><p>The first time she sees him is in the middle of a battlefield, between two armies.<p>

Hers and the other woman's.

The Woman trots ahead, sitting in the saddle of a slender white Pegasus -how tacky, Zelda thinks and exchanges an amused look with Link-, green hair flowing in the wind, armour white and shiny.

A waste of time and money, the queen concludes. The white will be splattered with red and brown soon enough, not to mention the Woman will be detectable from afar (of course Zelda's own gilded armour is beyond critique).

As fit for a queen -Zelda herself brought her brother along- the Woman is accompanied by someone.

He's right behind her, on a clearly ill-humoured stallion the colour of mud that looks more machine than horse.

While she refuses to say the Woman's name on principle, his is not known to her.

The two riders come to a halt, just a horse's length in front of the two Hylians.

"Zelda," the Woman flatly says to greet her.

Zelda nods. She will not acknowledge the Woman as royalty, as her equal, neither will she speak her name. In fact, she will speak to her as little as possible. Link will do the talking.

So Link and the Woman talk, exchange their views and beliefs, threat each other.

And while they do, she turns her attention away from the Woman whose hair resembles withered algae and directs it at the man, whose hair is blue like water under the night sky.

_Beorc have the most unusual hair colours._

Her look then slips down to his face, and she spends her time puzzling over whether he's highborn or not. With a look as hostile and condescending as possible, of course.

Just for a moment, he scrutinises her too, unaffected by her intimidating stare. Then his blue eyes wander away from her, and the man nonchalantly observes the army behind Zelda.

Link and the Woman stop talking. Her brother comes back. "No agreement", he simply says.

"Very well", she answers. That's what she was expecting, anyway.

She sees the Woman ride back and whisper some hushed sentences to the man; he simply nods. No talking on his behalf. The Woman turns round her Pegasus and gallops away, the animal almost _floatin__g_ over the dirty terrain.

The man does the same, but his dark beast first kicks into the air and wildly shakes its head. White foam splatters its coat and the mud beneath them. The ground trembles as the heavy destrier and his owner follow their queen.

She notices two enormous swords strapped to the man's back, and for the briefest of moments, the queen wonders who he is.

_It matters not_, she concludes. _He'll be just as dead as her_.

She slams her heel in her courser's flank and rides back to her camp.

* * *

><p>The second time she sees him, he's leaning against a post in he back of the tent, partially concealed by the shadows.<p>

The negotiations are led by a strange feline-man-like creature who has light blue hair, tail and ears— and a name she really can't be bothered to remember.

She talks this time, with the cyan creature, the Woman's husband (an annoyingly charming man with —of course— colourful, sky blue hair) and even the Woman herself, who proves to have a quick tongue.

Zelda hates that about her.

But she's not bad with words herself. She's a queen. So they debate for what feels like hours— but probably isn't.

She notices the man in the back converse with the cyan creature, then step a few times on the spot. He's not as heavily armoured as the last time they met, but the pommels of his swords still stick out from behind his back.

"For the last time, I do _not _accept this proposition," the Woman shouts heatedly. "This is ridiculous."

_For Goddesses__' __sake. _Raising one's voice during negotiations is not proper for a queen. Zelda loves it when her prejudices confirm themselves. "It's profitable, for my party and yours."

"It's not _fair,_" the Woman insists, "it's not profitable for me. I can impossibly work with that."

_Then I guess today is not the day the war ends._

Zelda gives Link a sign, and he begins wrapping up her maps and papers. The Woman speaks to her husband in their ugly native language.

"I don't know what you measure profit in." Zelda straightens herself, knowing full well how impressive she looks in her ornate breastplate and armoured breeches. "Your choices seem unreasonable to me, Elincia Ridell," she spits, pointedly leaving out the '_of Crimea_' that should follow the Woman's name, "but my offers stand, and they will stand long enough for you to accept them. Whenever you wish. Whenever you're ready, and then this war will end. People are dying. No one's profiting from _that_."

She wants to make a grand exit then, but someone keeps her from it.

"I know one person whose death we all would profit from."

The man in the back has a Commonwealth accent, so unlike the Woman's nasal one. His eyes stare at her with such intensity that Zelda almost forgets what he just said. What he suggested. Almost.

It's not worthy of an answer, but she _always _has to have the last word.

"Consider the offer."

Shitty last words. But what's said has been said, and as if to keep anyone from speaking up again, Zelda storms out of the tent into the chilly evening, Link fast on her heels. It is almost dark already, and the air smells like smoke and sweat. Her guards gather around them, someone offers to help her onto her mare's back, but the queen merely grabs the animal's reins and whirls around to face her brother.

"Get me his name," she snaps. "Anything you can find. He'll die first."

Link nods a nervous nod, throws the maps and papers into one of the guard's arms and quickly hurries away.

She's in her tent studying a parchment when he comes back. It took him quite a while, enough for her to calm down.

_I overreacted, _she thinks, disappointed with herself. _I shouldn't let any of these bastards get the best of me._

Which is why she's only half listening as her brother sits down and begins to talk.

"His name is Ike, Son of Greil," Link says, unsheathing his sword to sharpen it. "A lord and the bitch's highest-ranking general. The Radiant Hero, I hear they call him, blessed by the Goddess of Dawn herself."

"Tsh", she snorts and shakes her head over the parchment, a strategic plan of her army.

_The Goddess of Dawn_.

They're all just a bunch of heretics to her, anyway.

* * *

><p>The third time she sees him, he's storming after her, devoid of the two swords she's seen on him before.<p>

As she runs, she wonders why.

But it makes no difference, because his hands can do the job just as well as his weapons can, after he ultimately catches her, grabbing her by the long brown braid.

She doesn't have her sword, either, doesn't have her bow. She feels naked.

She brutally falls to the ground, sobbing, trying to do anything to get away- she kicks and squirms and writhes, but soon she can't even sob anymore, because he turns her around and wraps his reddened hands around her white throat.

Sometimes, she can still feel them there.

"For the Commonwealth," he hisses, his hard mouth curled up in concentration as he's choking the life out of her, "for Crimea."

She recalls the hate in his eyes, the fear in hers, the desperation of her lungs and the hollow sounds of ongoing battle from behind the keep's thick walls.

There is a deafening noise then, but she only registers it on the side. Her mind is clear in those last, desperate moments, trying to find something soothing to take with her into death, but there is only the beast in her blurred field of vision, the one with blue hair, blue eyes and blue fire in his black heart.

_Blessed by the Goddess of Dawn herself_.

Blue is the colour of peace, but to her it brings death.

She slowly feels her body relax, ceases to struggle. She knows it's over, then, relieved— _glad_ even, to escape the confines of this hell on earth.

Just a few handbreadth over her, his eyes snap out of focus. She feels the beast's hands slip as he grunts.

And that is the last time she sees him.

At least so she'd hoped.

* * *

><p><strong>For those who read the Author's Note: I guess you can tell that the story doesn't end here.<strong>

**I kind of came up ****with it today and randomly decided to upload it. If anyone of you is also reading Angels & Men, rest assured that it is not on hiatus, I was merely away on well-deserved (at least I think so) holidays. I'm actively working on the next chapter.**

**Please remember to review and tell me what you think. Critique is most welcome!**


	2. One

_One _

* * *

><p>Never in her wildest nightmares could Zelda have imagined this, but here he is, dining at her table, as her 'guest'. Posing.<p>

* * *

><p>"You can't be serious."<p>

"No, _you__'__re _being unreasonable here, Zelda."

She has to hold on to the chair for support. They want to take her brother away. And he's _fine _with that.

"Look, this way, peace is ensured. As long as you don't do anything to _our _hostage."

"There, you said it! You said the word! _Hostage._" She almost spits out the word, almost tastes its disgusting taste on her tongue. "You'll be theirs."

Link sits down and presses his lips together. "That was… That was too strong of a word. Not the right one. It's more like 'guest-subject to a condition'."

"That doesn't change anything. That just changes how it _sounds_."

Her brother buries his face in his hands while the queen nervously paces around the room. They've lost so much in this war. If the peace had come any later, neither Hyrule nor Crimea would exist anymore. But there's a catch to everything. The good can't exist without the bad. There is no light without shadow. Which is why this peace agreement is so poisonous.

A highborn for a highborn, someone from court. Someone who matters and is crucial enough to ensure peace.

Unfortunately, the late king and queen haven't blessed their two children with more siblings, neither did they have siblings themselves.

So Link has to go, for an unidentified amount of time. The only family she has left.

"I want to kill them," she whispers and forcibly sits down, clumsily crumpling a copy of the peace agreement in her balled, shaking fist. "They're robbing me of _everything, _my land, my subjects, and now my family. I want to ki—"

"Hey now." Link kneels down next to her chair and takes the hand with the crumpled paper in it, gently prying her fingers apart. "Sweet sister, there can be no more war. Right now, it would be suicide. Maybe in a few years, but there'll be no need for that, then. I promise you I'll be back. Taking back the isles is utterly out of the question."

"It is _not _a fair deal," she screams, her whole body trembling. She'll be left alone.

Link caresses her back. He knows how to deal with her, he's used to it. "It is," he insists, "highborn for highborn. You'll get the godfather of the heir."

"I want the heir."

"She's a babe of eleven months."

"I want the bitch's brother. Since she's taking mine."

Link sighs. "She doesn't have siblings. But I heard the guest is like her brother, if not by blood."

Zelda doesn't want this fact, this _pathetic _fact to pacify her, but it does. Just a little.

If this will be hell on earth for her, she'll go out of her way to make sure it'll be worse for the _guest_.

* * *

><p>They can't fool her. She's identified it as a plot. Knows that the bitch has purposely sent <em>him<em>, the one who almost killed her.

And he's not even legitimately highborn.

He's on a mission. On a mission to exploit the situation and haunt her in her very own castle.

And she can do nothing about it.

The soldier who'd hauled the brick at _his_ head that night, consecutively saving her from asphyxiation and incidentally only looking for her to inform her of the end of the war, is dead.

The only witness is dead.

Found on the keep's floor, dead as a squashed bug, disfigured and partially buried beneath a crumpled wall, with _him_ only a step away, inexplicably spared by the rocks.

_Blessed by the Goddess of Dawn herself._

He is just as content about it as she is, it seems.

Morosely poking around in his roasted duck, playing around with the dull knife in his hand.

She wishes he would eat. She wishes she had poisoned his duck.

But if anything happens to him, the bitch will kill Link. Brutally, Zelda's sure of that.

It was an unfair bargain. They've gotten her brother. She's gotten _him_.

His voice rips her out of her thoughts, as monotone as the sea on a windless day. "Your Majesty. I can't eat with that."

He waves at her with the knife from across the long table.

"Well," she says, slowly taking a sip from her wine. Oh, how she wants to kill him. Wants him to eat the duck in one piece and then choke on it. Just like he was choking her. "Then I suppose you're going to have to stay hungry."

She stands up and excuses herself, noticing from the corner of her eye that her words do nothing to him, do not trigger a black rage in which he slaughters all the servants (using the damned dull knife while he's at it), giving her a reason to throw him into the dungeons.

No emotion.

Not even a twitch of his lip.

Instead, he simply takes the duck with both hands and begins to eat it like some kind of _savage_.

She pays him no mind as she walks past him towards the door.

She knows he wants to kill her, too.


	3. Two

_Two_

* * *

><p>'The Fire Queen', they call her, she's suddenly being reminded while sitting on her throne and listening to a farmer minutely describing the state of her crop after the last thunderstorm.<p>

She also knows exactly why; she knows how to get her staff to talk.

Apparently, she's as peaceful and silent as a little flame on a single candle in a windless room, quiet and harmless when left alone.

But cross her, pour a little fuel over the tranquil flame (just a drop) and she explodes into an inferno.

Yes, the queen's well aware of having a hot temper; but she also knows she's a just ruler, however little compassionate she may seem to her subjects.

In the few years since her father's demise, the kingdom's economy has grown and its crime rate has gone down significantly.

However, even in the most perfect realm, there will always be some black sheep.

Her judgment is always fair— sometimes, she even feels generous!

Today is one of those days— even though the audiences are usually the worst part of being a queen.

(She does not know why, but she prefers to attribute her good humour to the pears (the first truly tasty ones harvested after the aforementioned thunderstorms) she's had for breakfast. Of course _he_ had spoiled them with his presence, but she refuses to let this triviality ruin her day.)

The next man seeking an audience is an old nobleman accusing a dirty beggar of raping his daughter. The girl herself is standing next to her father and the accused (who's being restrained by a guard) and sobs uncontrollably.

Though the girl's sobbing is nerve-racking, Zelda knows it's justified. After all, which highborn wants to marry a tarnished girl?

The rapist even confesses (a pleasant surprise), which lifts the queen's spirits.

"You may choose which to keep. Your head or the tool."

Normally, rapists are promptly sent to the executioner.

The culprit stammers for a while, clearly torn between the two options, to the queen's utter disgust.

_Men._

Finally, he makes his tearful choice and the queen feigns interest as she declares the penalty.

It's been three days since _he_ arrived. Zelda still feels bad about herself for letting his sudden presence throw her off track, but that dark period (give or take twelve hours) is not worth mentioning (she's spent these hours crying and having asthmatic attacks in her chambers, followed by almost destroying some furniture in a blind rage).

Oh, well. Her chair, her mirror and several candlesticks had to be replaced, but that's an indication of poor quality, really. Maybe she should take the carpenter's head as well.

But today, that would be counter-productive. Carpenter's heads are not on greater demand.

Indeed, the crime rate in Hyrule has gone down, which is all good and well; however, the queen would have welcomed a few more murderers to be received in audience today.

She's very satisfied with how quick she's adapted to the new situation, to _his_ presence. She avoids him where she can, but the audience today had initially proven to be a prime opportunity for showing the savage how she deals with murderers.

People like him.

He's sitting not too far from her, on the dais to her right amongst some other highborns. Zelda has high hopes that he's either shaking from fear while watching her judge or dying out of boredom (a feeling the audiences often make the queen experience).

The important thing is just that he's not having any fun.

However, as the hours pass, it's Zelda's frown that grows, not his, as it should be.

There is a distinct lack of murderers today. Nothing would have pleased her more, would it be a regular day.

And, the cherry on top, the savage actually looks as if he's _enjoying _himself. Yes, he's having a vivid chat with a mousy woman in the chair next to him.

Only for a split second do Zelda's eyes last on them, but it is enough for her to analyse the situation. She clenches her teeth and digs her nails into the sides of her plush throne while some insignificant farmer in front of her goes on and on about some cows killed during the thunderstorms (frankly, she couldn't care less about the cows right now).

Another look to the dais. Ah, _that__'__s _why the woman's so mousy. It's one of her handmaidens. A moderately pretty, but rather unremarkable girl. She's helped the queen into the black lace dress this morning. _Something she won__'__t have the pleasure of doing anymore, _Zelda thinks.

And with every passing minute, she's getting more and more furious. Judging by their constant talking and grinning, the savage and the handmaiden seem to have hit it off.

That's _not _how it is supposed to go. Zelda is _convinced _that her brother is lonely and miserable in Crimea, vegetating away in some cell the bitch has presented to him as his chamber.

But the Goddesses are considerate towards the queen.

The next man who's being hauled in and thrown to the floor in front of her is being accused of murder.

And the Goddesses must have a very, _very _good day, because the murderer _confesses _to his crime. Yes, right away, in detail, describing his victim's cries and pleas and the joy the murder brought him.

(And then he tries to spit at Zelda, which is rather pathetic because she's sitting five metres in front and two metres higher than him on her throne, and his bloody saliva only stains the carpet.)

"Off with his head," the queen simply pronounces before the man's rant is even over. The guards grab the murderer by the shoulders and drag him away.

"Hold it," she says, and the guards stop dead in their tracks. "What are you doing?"

"Following your orders, Your Majesty," the taller guard answers. He stands tall, but his voice sounds brittle and unsure.

She _feels _the room go quiet. "I said _off with his head._"

"Right… Right now, Your Majesty? Right here?" The man seems clearly shaken. The other one —the one holding the murderer— looks from the queen to the carpet and back to her in confusion.

"Must I repeat myself? _Again? _Draw your sword, Sir, or do I have to do this myself?"

She will do it if she has to. She's not afraid to carry out her judgment. That's what her father always did and taught her to do.

The murderer bursts into a sudden fit of panic and screams as he's being dragged back in front of the queen's throne while the noise in the throne room now turns into something deafening and silencing alike. She feels her heart race as her men hold the murderer down, watches the guard draw his sword as instructed and give it a few brief swings. Then he raises the steel over his head and the weapon makes a _swooshing_ sound as it cuts through the air.

Then the screaming stops, but Zelda doesn't see her judgment being executed.

She only has eyes for Ike, Son of Greil.

He's sitting motionless on his spot, one of the very few who don't look away as the sword ends the man's life. The handmaiden is screaming her lungs out (along with the other women in the room) and simultaneously burying her face in the savage's broad shoulder, which he seems oblivious too.

And then he raises his head and looks directly at the queen, meeting her gaze, as if he knows exactly she's been staring at him.

But she doesn't see any trace of fear or intimidation in his eyes, not even a hint of emotion. It is as if his face has turned to stone.

Zelda averts her gaze and pushes herself to her feet. She feels drunk all of a sudden. "The audiences are over," she declares with a firm voice and gracefully makes her way down the steps and to the door, tiptoeing around the puddles of blood and the clunky round object rolling on the carpet, away from the agitated voices and the man with the blue hair before the pears force their way out of her stomach.


	4. Three

_Three_

* * *

><p>"Am I pulling too strong, Your Grace?"<p>

Zelda shakes her head in silence and lets the handmaiden continue removing the pins and ribbons from her hair.

It is still thunderstorm season. It is also late in the night and the blackness outside is frequently disrupted by flashes of white, rain and thunder have replaced the sticky silence of the day that has passed.

The moat must be overflowing again, but that's a concern she'll deal with in the morning.

"Leave me, Impa. I'll take it from here."

"As you wish, Your Majesty." The old woman quickly detaches one last pin and runs her fingers though the queen's long hair to smoothen it down. She then gathers her various utensils, raises herself from the taboret and flees.

Thunder crashes simultaneously with the door being slammed shut, and Zelda jerks a little at the sudden sound. She hurries over to the window to shut it, almost falling over the taboret Impa has left behind.

The queen frowns and pushes the thing to the wall. _Senile old woman. _Age certainly isn't working in Impa's favour. But she's a good woman, and she's been at court for as long as Zelda can remember— her hands may shake and her mind may be sluggish, but Impa's heart is in the right place (even if it's eighty years old and bound to stop beating soon).

Zelda lets herself fall on her bed— her parents' bed, an _ogre _made out of wood, its backrest so artful she's almost afraid of leaning on it, its size so enormous she can stretch out on it crossways and still never touch the edges. It's an empty bed.

It's an empty _room_, too, spacious enough to fit a hundred people inside. She's moved into it after inheriting the crown— or, to be precise, her staff moved her into it just a day after her parents' death, to her utter consternation. After all, it is only proper for the new queen to reside in the biggest chambers.

She's used to the emptiness now, she thinks. It's not one that stems from the furnishing or the lack of it (because the furniture is still the same). Almost everything looked identical when her parents were still alive, yet the room had never felt as empty as it does now.

The queen sighs, standing up again. She's decidedly too woken for such a late hour, yet she knows sleep won't come easily tonight. Various reasons are to blame for that, none that she can ignore, as much as she would wish to.

One of them is a paper in her hand, one that's been crumpled often enough to render the writing crabbed. But the queen knows its contents by heart, so often has she read, mussed it up and smoothened the letter.

It's a letter from Link.

And it's definitely _not _what Zelda expected.

He sounds… Fine. Happy, even. Alright, maybe 'happy' is too strong a word, but Link certainly doesn't complain. Of course she's checked the letter a hundred times to find some hidden meaning behind the words, to decipher and rearrange them into one of the secret languages they've created when she and her brother were children, but there's nothing. Nothing at all.

No desperate cry for help concealed between the lines, lurking amongst the carefully written characters.

And she's been wondering all day if she should take his words for what they are, if Link is _actually__… __Content _with his situation.

Her brother's always been the kind of person who sees the good in things, who seizes the opportunity to turn a bad situation into a good one. He's always been one to laugh his way through life and twist and turn things so they don't seem grim. There's never been place for pessimism in his life.

And it's not like she _wants _himto be miserable, Goddesses forbid. What kind of _monster_ would she have to be? No, she loves him for his constructive attitude.

But it would never work for _her. _His approach to life is different than hers, and as much as she could take a page from his book sometimes, her brother is _blinded _by his happiness— or whatever it is that keeps him from seeing the real world.

Seeing that the world is cruel no matter what you do. That _people _are cruel no matter what happens.

Zelda realises that she's been absentmindedly looking over her brother's words again and crumples the paper with a quick, cruel move, then casts it away. Enough of this. She doesn't know what to make of it, and all this letter has accomplished is to rob her of her sleep.

But it's not only the letter, she begrudgingly reminds herself as she comes to her feet to pick it up from the floor and throw it into the fireplace.

No, come the morning she'll have to sit across _him _again. _Ike. What a peasant name._

She's been doing her best to avoid him, and she's very positive he's been doing the exact same thing. The last time Zelda has seen him was during that audience, and ever since she's been having her meals delivered to her chambers. From what she's picked up (the maids gossip _a lot_), _he _has been frequenting the dining hall with a delay of at least an hour. Three times a day.

(And she's sure that has _nothing _to do with the fact that it is custom in the Crimean Commonwealth to eat a little later than in Hyrule. Link has informed her about this in his letter.)

But whether she wants it or not, the avoiding has to stop. For one, because tomorrow is Thunder Day celebration and they're going to have to have breakfast together no matter what, but also, most of all, because avoiding him is sending _entirely_ the wrong message.

She's not afraid of him, and she will not allow him to think so.

Also, if eating early will disorganise his daily routine, so be it.

"Ike," Zelda mutters as she turns back to her bed. She will be his undoing, just like he wanted to be hers.

In the exact moment she passes the big new mirror on the wall, lightning flashes white. The queen jumps in shock, but it takes her just a second to realise the ghostly figure she sees is her own reflection.

Her lipstick is still as red as blood, her skin still the rosy white. Eyes still sapphires and hair still the radiant, yet so weird brown hue. She doesn't know _why_ it's this colour, why it's not the colour of spun gold that literally every single one of her ancestors had. Nobody does.

And she touches her neck where a different pair of hands was not so long ago.

And for the briefest of moments, a split second at most maybe, the queen is being reminded of her isolation, of how _different _she feels, so alone in this room that is too big and empty now, with only the ghosts of fond memories left.

Then the room is suddenly bathed in dimness again, and the queen dismisses her thoughts.

It's not like they're productive, anyway.


	5. Four

_Four_

* * *

><p>It's an incredibly boring day. Granted, it shouldn't be. It's her birthday.<p>

And of course, to worship the queen —whether she wants it or not— there are festivities taking place. For four days, one for every Goddess and an additional one for the queen. Such is the custom.

Usually, Link organises the festivities; hence the whether she wants it or not, because she doesn't, really, but it's not like she can convince her optimistic brother to give up organising her birthday year after year.

This year however he is gone. And to tell the truth, Zelda is surprised this horrendously boring four-day party in her honour is still happening. She thought with Link gone, no one would actually bother to organise it.

She was wrong.

But be that as it may, she doesn't want to overthink this issue. Everything is meant for her to be enjoyed so she sits back in her throne and reaches for another pear as two knights on their horses collide mere ten metres in front of her.

Competitive jousting (or just jousting in general) has never been comprehensible to her. Why two people would like to ram each other with lances at high speed is just… Well, stupid. And that's probably why most of her knights are good-for-nothing fools, because they've fallen too often on their heads.

The winner then rides up to the dais and takes off his painted helmet.

_The man already looks like he__'__s got the IQ of his lance. I bet his horse is more intelligent than him._

He bows his head before the queen, then rides along the dais to her maids, asking for a favour for the next joust. The girls then transform into animals in the blink of an eye, fighting over whose handkerchief the knight with the golden hair gets to wear as a lucky charm.

"Wine," Zelda demands and Impa immediately pours the red liquid into the queen's goblet.

She's decided not to wear black today. She knows Link would complain if he were present, and she's even instructed the handmaid who helps her get dressed in the morning to argue with her about the colour of the dress. The girl didn't get the hang of it, however; maybe she's been jousting as well. Or maybe she's just naturally stupid. But she did choose a nice dress for the queen in the end, a dark purple one. One that goes with the crimson lipstick.

Oh well, it's the fourth and last day of the festivities and there have been surprisingly few mishaps for an event of such magnitude. Of course there _have _been problems, one of which involving Lord Ike of Toha. Naturally. Because when does that man _not _pose a problem?

Personally, he is the one person the queen would have absolutely _loved _to see fall into the dirt in front of her, but when she'd actually spotted his ogre of a horse on the edge of the tiltyard, she'd immediately ordered a few knights to confiscate the animal (in the process of which two of them ended up with broken ribs) and prevent the lord from participating in the jousts. At any cost.

Zelda will not have the man fall from his horse and get even as much as a scratch, not if she has a say in it. She has to play it safe.

Her brother's safety depends on that blue-haired wretch's wellbeing.

Well, it's been three days and she hasn't seen the man or heard any news from her guards, so she assumes he's rotting away in his chamber or drinking himself to unconsciousness in a brothel (which, to be honest, isn't ideal as well. She's had to had several whores beheaded for murder already). Zelda decides to inquire after the wretch after the next event, which is the first round of the brawl.

The brawl consists of a group of twenty men fighting against each other until there's only five left. Those five then advance to the next round to fight the winners of other groups, and this goes on until a winner's emerged.

It's still not a very intelligent concept, but at least better than the entirely brainless jousts. _Survival of the fittest._

Not that the queen's very interested in it, anyway. While the contestants act like barbarians down on the tiltyard, she pays more interest to the freshly cooked mussels that are being served. Her favourite.

"Your Grace," someone suddenly whispers. Zelda snaps out of her trance; she's been busy playing with the chocolate fountain and little waffles and grapes for at least fifteen minutes. Impa's hushed voice however makes the queen frown; the old woman sounds nervous, urgent even.

"What is it?"

The brawl is over, the queen notices. Knights are readying themselves for a joust.

"We have a situation."

"Well, what kind of situation? I can't read your thoughts, Impa." Zelda's mood has dropped already. She hopes she doesn't have to personally deal with this _situation; _she's kind of befriended the chocolate fountain, and the wine's been making it especially easy for her to familiarise herself with it. She's found new friends.

"It's being taken care of—"

"Good."

"But since you requested to be kept informed about Lord Ike's whereabout's and activities—"

The wine and the chocolate suddenly scream to get out of her stomach.

"Why? What's happened?" Zelda sits up as swift as an arrow. The chocolate fountain is forgotten, and if the wine doesn't disappear from her sight right now, she might actually disgorge.

The old woman now looks even frailer as she's cowering before her queen, avoiding eye contact at all cost. "Nothing of significance, Your Grace. The lord merely participated in the brawl and received a minor injury on his—"

"Bring me to him. _Now,_" Zelda barks and jumps up. She doesn't know who to hate more, the wretch or this utterly incompetent bunch of knights whose only task it was to _prevent _this from happening.

"At once, Your Grace."

_Nothing of significance? _she thinks as she hurriedly follows the crone through the tourney grounds, five of her guards on her heels. How dare Impa judge the situation?

The queen realises she must look odd with her little entourage, rushing between the tents and through the mud, dressed in the finest lace in the western hemisphere and a golden tiara on her head.

Most of the people who are in their way jump out of it, incredulous, but some throw themselves to the ground to bow before their queen. Don't they see she's in a hurry?

Luckily, she doesn't have to have too much contact with the common crowd, for the tent Impa's leading her towards is big and red, can be seen from a distance, and, most importantly, is just around the corner.

Two knights stand in front of it and pull back its flaps as soon as they see their queen approach.

"Were my orders not clear?" she shouts as she storms inside, brutally shoving aside two knights who aren't quick enough to move. "Did you swallow your tongues? I want an answer!"

Everyone in the room does a quick bow or curtsy, the wretch merely nods. There's several makeshift beds in the tent that serves as infirmary, but they're all empty. All empty but the one the wretch's sitting on, and several people are crowded around him.

One of the knights clears his throat. "Your Magnificence, we were called to the tent as soon as the patient's identity was revealed. Since you requested to be kept informed, we thought it important enough to send for you."

"So it was important enough to send for me but not important enough to prevent it in the first place? Which is _what I asked you to do_?" she demands sweetly. None of the knights has an answer. "You will be dealt with later. I want everyone who's not either a healer or nurse or howsoever pivotal _out of here! NOW!_"

The knights, Impa and five girls with towels immediately scurry away, leaving behind only a man with golden-grey hair, two other towel girls and one that's apparently been busy cleaning the wretch's wound, but now she only stares at the queen with big eyes.

"Move," the queen heatedly demands and the two girls with towels in their hands jump aside at her command.

Given that he's the reason they're all gathered here, the wretch seems rather disinterested in the people and the situation surrounding him. In fact, his calm demeanour has an infuriating effect on the queen as he just sits there, bare-chested and _bored _while the girl's still holding his right arm, which is completely covered in blood.

_He__'__s bleeding out. Oh Goddesses, he__'__s bleeding out._

The sheer amount of blood makes Zelda panic. It takes her less than a second to push the girl away and reach for the wretch's arm— but her fingers stop a handbreadth above his skin and her hands ball themselves into fists.

She can't touch him. There's a barrier between them, and Din only knows what might happen if she breaks it.

"Your Majesty?"

Someone delicately touches Zelda's elbow. She spins around as if stung by a bee and sees the middle-aged man with laughter lines and a staff in his hand. "My name is Loriel. I am the responsible medical overseer."

"I sure hope only the most competent people are handling this."

"I am also the healer."

"Then I hope you are one of the most competent. For your sake."

"Your kind words are too gracious." _What? __"_I am the best and only healer responsible for the free knights in this tournament. I can assure you that the lord has been in good hands, my queen. Tarisa, please carry on._"_

The girl behind them gets back to washing the wretch's arm.

Loriel's laughter lines irritate the queen. She feels the urge to punch his constant smile away, or maybe it is just the urge to hit _someone _in the wretch's stead, because she can't hit _him. _"Well, what is his current condition? Medically speaking?" She hates it when her voice sounds like that, as if it would crack.

"It is but a shallow cut, Your Grace. Larger than average, but it will have completely healed in no time. It merely looks somehow messy because of the water that's mixed itself with the blood."

The man smiles. _Why is he smiling? _Maybe he's working for the wretch. Maybe they're both out on driving her crazy.

"My queen, if I may put your mind at ease, it's almost a wonder milord received this minor cut only," Loriel continues. "On average, a brawl's participant gets at least three deep and five shallow wounds, in _one round only_. It is not uncommon for contestants to suffer lethal wounds, even, and milord managed to advance to the next round without further injuries."

How exactly is that supposed to put her mind at ease? Zelda only hears one thing.

_Goddesses. He could have died._

She feels sick again, to the point that she has to hold on to the next best thing, which is the healer.

"Ouh, Your Majesty, you don't look so good. Please, may I—"

"No." She lets go of the man's shoulder. She doesn't need tea or healing or whatever he was about to offer her, all she needs is the wretch safely tied up in a dungeon.

And for the first time since the queen's entered the tent, the wretch himself actually speaks up. "I wouldn't have died."

Zelda slowly turns around in her rage. The lord's arm is now clean, and the girl is lovingly massaging a salve onto his thick muscle. Zelda wants to hit his emotionless face with Loriel's staff. "Is there a brain in that thick head of yours?"

He narrows his eyes. "Is there a reason for your insolence?"

The queen's so furious that her jaw nearly breaks from pressing her teeth together with such force. She feels the urge to cut the lord's tongue out, just to never hear his accent again.

"This particular salve will heal the cut in half the time, Your Highness," Loriel is quick to interrupt. His voice sounds agitated. "Milord won't even feel it, he'll be able to win the brawl free from wo—"

"Do you think I will let him even set foot on the tiltyard?!" she shouts at the healer. The audacity to even _suggest _such a thing. "I want you to heal him as best as you can, wrap him up and hand him to the guards and _most importantly, _do NOT let him out of your sight!"

"You must be jesting", the lord speaks up, with an actual hint of emotion in his voice for once.

It's not like Loriel has anything to say. The queen's effectively wiped his mindless smile away.

"Do I _look _like I am jesting?"

"You never do." One of the towel girls gives him a fresh white tunic. _About time. _"I'm not a child. I do not need to be watched."

"You were forbidden to participate, which is exactly what you did. I think you _do _need to be watched."

The wretch takes his time to respond. He begins unfolding the tunic he's been given, Loriel orders his girls to clean up some ointments and other… Healing utensils. Staffs and such. "Tarisa," the healer calls, but the girl just stands there and stupidly stares at the wretch as he throws the tunic over his head. "Tarisa."

"You, girl! Tarisa!" At the sound of the queen's voice, the girl literally jumps. She's all red as she turns around. "_Out,_" Zelda commands and the girl runs out of the tent, eyes wet. _Competent staff only, huh?_

"I did what you asked. I distinctly remember you telling me to stay away from the jousts. No mention of the brawl. I plan to win this," Lord Ike finally decides to say.

_Goddesses, if he doesn__'__t get himself killed, _I _may do it for him._

Zelda's _fuming. _"Listen well so there won't be any more misunderstandings. You will neither participate in the brawl nor any other activities that involve any kind of weapons, bets, or physical contact. And that includes the brothels and the whores by the docks as well as the drinking houses. And also the dances at the end of the day, especially those, is that clear? You will have two guards accompany you at all times, and I better not get any reports of you trying to shake them off."

The tent seems to shrink, Zelda notices. She needs to get out of here fast, get some fresh air. In here, it reeks of sweat and herbs and blood.

The wretch does not like her order. "Am I at least allowed to breathe?"

"Witty. Loriel, do as you're instructed. Two guards will wait for him after you're done."

Loriel quickly bows as deep as he can. "Your wish is my command, Magnificence."

Zelda then turns on her heel and marches to the exit.

"Your loss, really," _he, _the source of the problem, speaks up as she's almost at the tent's flaps, "I _was _going to ask you for your favour for the next brawl."

_Don__'__t answer, Zelda, just walk away. He__'__s trying to provoke you. They__'__re all trying to provoke you. They're _conspiring _against you_.

Her stomach's turned at his statement, and it turns even more when she hears him mutter some words in his native language while she walks out. She's heard those words before, the Crimean knights who've accompanied him to Hyrule always use them. And they're not particularly _flattering _words. To put it nicely.

Her own entourage, the one that's been waiting for her outside, immediately begins to move as soon as the queen emerges from the red tent. She briefly assigns two knights as shadows for the lord and instructs them on what to do, then stalks away towards the tiltyard where her dais is waiting for her with the sweet promise of a throne and cushions.

"I want his letters intercepted," she commands, not slowing down her angry stride, "If there's as much as a mention of the word 'scratch', or even my brother, report it to me at once, is that clear? Get the best translator money can buy."

Golden and orange rays on the horizon are blinding Zelda; the sun is setting. Finally. The festivities will be taking place until early in the morning, but the night signifies the upcoming end of this horrid day.

Impa almost crashes into the queen as the young woman abruptly stops and turns to her following. "And if your life is worth something to you, make sure your work isn't sloppy this time."

Her guards fervently nod. The queen climbs the few steps up the dais to her throne and reaches for the goblet filled with water, something to soothe her stomach.

She _hates _festivals.


	6. Five

_Five_

* * *

><p>The main thing the queen's treasurer loves to complain about are the arts. Granted, the treasurer's the kind of person who just complains about <em>everything: <em>the garden, the handmaidens, the moat, the army, the wine and the whores (it's only a matter of time until he starts complaining about the queen as well). If he weren't such a cash cow, Zelda would have had him disappear from court a long time ago. But the man has a good nose for money, which is why he is still alive.

But he's probably still the most annoying member of her council, because even though the money hardly ever stops flowing into the court's pockets, he has always something to say about the masterpieces the queen's so troublesomely amassed.

Hyrule Castle is divided into three imaginary parts: the Old Part, the New Part, and the Keep. The Keep is where the queen's chambers are, the Old Part is reserved for the kitchen, the ballrooms and the servants' domiciles.

Unlike her treasurer (apparently), Zelda loves art. The castle's New Part is new in every sense of the word— the queen had it built a few years back, specifically to accommodate her growing art collection.

The throne room could not be moved into the New Part, in which Zelda spends all her time (amidst the books, musical instruments, statues and paintings); but the council chamber could. Which is where they are sitting now, at a huge artful table, the faces on expensive paintings looking down at them.

"… and several soldiers have already requested their salary cut be reversed. Sadly, I do not have the privilege to grant them their wishes, I am but a mere messenger, the voice of the less fortunate. I cannot snap my fingers to make money appear out of nowhere."

"You are the treasurer, Lord Argon," the queen flatly states. "This is exactly what I expect you to do. You didn't seem to have problems with pulling gold out of your arse in the past."

Lord Argon reddens (which looks ridiculous on his wrinkled face), and the rest of the small council sheepishly looks away. "I dare say that Your Grace has spent more than provided on these, these… expensive _gimmicks_." He shakes his hands in the air —a tic of his— and excitedly points at the paintings. The ludicrous little goatee wiggles under his angular chin as he continues. "Money that was primarily intended for research and support of the army."

"The coastal towns are also waiting for support from the capitol, Magnificence" Lady Fatface adds, and her three chins are wobbling. That's not her actual name, but the queen's decided that 'Fatface' is just a better fit.

"Precisely! May I remind the council that my intestines are _not _a gold mine? I have many resources, but there are certain limits to even my capabilities. There are only so many things I can put a tax on."

"There is none on the whorehouses yet, if I recall correctly."

Lord Argon looks about ready to explode at the queen's words, the only thing that's missing is some steam rising from his jug ears. "And legalise prostitution?"

"Your Majesty," the captain of her guard begins, "the last vote resulted in only three votes in favour of that law, and Lord Calvin has since fallen in the war." Every single member has it written on their face: That they are glad to be rid of Calvin. Zelda is glad as well, but that means the law is even less likely to pass.

"Let's vote again, then," Zelda suggests nonetheless. "I realise that some of you may frequent the whorehouses more often than the others, and that a legalisation of that trade may not be in favour of your personal interests, but let me remind you that there's a lot of money in this business. And, Lord Argon— I remember you complaining about the ladies by the docks." The treasurer furiously blushes as the queen gives him an innocent smile. "So! Everyone in favour of legalising prostitution!"

She can almost hear the crickets clitter as the entirety of her council stares at her, motionless. Not even Lady Fatface cared to join her. Last time she did. What a hypocrite. Zelda lowers her hand with a sigh. "What is the point of being queen if I can't do what I want, really?"

"You still can, Magnificence— remember the war? We are here to advise you," old Lord Ronan states with his shaky voice.

_Whatever. __"_Apparently Hyrule wishes to stay a little behind when it comes to economy. Very well, I suggest you find another source of gold then, Argon._"_

"We would not have this problem if Your Grace had not decided to empty the royal treasure chambers in favour of blocks of carved stone," Argon heatedly states.

The queen rolls her eyes. "Those _statues _you are referring to are culturally valuable pieces, and I pity you for not being able to appreciate their timeless beauty," she condescendingly says. "Moreover, a general proclivity Hyrule's for the arts may be of use to boost commerce with the New World. Which even you with your blinders cannot deny, milord."

Count Timmur claps his hands together and speaks before Lord Argon can regain his voice. "Oho! Magnificence, I can assure you that every single person in this room won't averse to a boost in commerce, but you know as well as we do that the New World will not entirely open its gates until we solve this teeny, tiny little problem that's been constantly hovering over our heads."

_Damn me. _Zelda has forgotten that every mention of the New World reanimates this stupid debate they've been having since her coronation.

"You know that they tend to be a little conservative over there," Lord Ronan reminds her.

"Full trade with the New World would be a _gold mine_", Lord Argon raves.

"Oh, Hyrule certainly needs an heir," Lady Fatface shouts, and Lady Spast next to her furiously nods her head.

"Hm." The queen produces a disdainful smile. "The session is over."

Thus, she stands up and leaves the room in a determined stride. Behind her, she hears the council members move their chairs and start talking, but there are also steps quickly approaching her, so Zelda accelerates.

"My queen!" someone calls. She recognises Lord Ronan's voice but pretends not to have heard him. Can't they just leave her alone with this whole issue? Again she asks herself why Ronan is even a member of her council. He is a lord, yes, but he has no lands and even less influence. After hurrying down another hall, the queen finally has mercy on the old man and comes to a halt. Ronan catches up to her, huffing and puffing. _Dear Goddesses. I sure hope he doesn't collapse now_, she thinks with a frown. Not only because she doesn't want anyone to die on the expensive carpet they are standing on, but also because she _does _in fact harbour somewhat amicable feelings for the old man. He has already served her father, and he taught her how to play the piano.

"The session is over," she states with a frown.

"I know, I know," he jerkily says, still catching his breath. "But you left with such haste that I had no opportunity to discuss this with you."

"Guess _why_ I left with such haste."

Ronan falters a little. Zelda rolls her eyes and offers him her arm to hold on to, which earns her a thankful smile. "Yes, you tend to do that whenever that topic comes up. But I've done some research, Your Grace, and perhaps you might be interested in what I have to say." He looks up to her with his small grey eyes (he's shrunk a lot during the past few years, and now Zelda is towering over him), eager to hear her answer.

Urgh. The queen wonders whether it's anything new he actually has to tell her— but if it isn't, he could have just waited until the next session, where that bastard of a topic probably would've come up anyway. It always does. "Fine. What is it?"

They begin walking down the hall. "Well, as you know, certain states in the New World accept women as head of state, however they prefer it if she is m—"

"Yes, I _know, _we've been over this fifty times already. Get to the point."

Ronan clears his throat. "Of course you do. However, as I have learned, it makes no difference whether the couple is only symbolically married."

She silently lets this piece of information sink in. It dawns on her as she sees how pointedly the man is looking at her. "So it makes no difference whether one half of the married couple is exiled or dead?"

"Hush, now", he silences her, "you understand why I could not bring that up in front of the council. Magnificence, I just wanted to bring to your attention that a marriage would be just for show. The New World is a very peculiar place, and they would be more open to trade with Hyrule if there has been a man on your side already."

To be fair, Zelda doesn't feel like connecting a trade route with those sexist ogres, but that is something she cannot change.

When she doesn't say anything, the lord continues, sensing that she's at least reflecting about it. "Now, you must consider that a suitor is also a powerful political tool. One of the Hylian counts would reinforce your influence over his lands. There are many advantages to a Hylian marriage, really. A noble from the New World itself would doubtlessly help create prospering trade routes and closer connections to overseas. The benefits are endless. I also urge you to consider a suitor from the Commonwealth, preferably Crimea, to ease the relation. Quite conveniently the Lord of T—"

"Are you thick?" the queen snaps. "That man wasn't even born with a last name."

Ronan quickly lowers his head. "Forgive me. I took the liberty of assuming you'd want me to produce a list with suitable men."

Zelda stops in her tracks. "You took the liberty of assuming I'd want you to produce a list of suitable men?!" she repeats incredulously.

The lord nods and pulls out a parchment from under his robe. _The audacity, _Zelda thinks. _Old people assume they__'__re untouchable just because of their age._

But she rips the parchment out of his hands nevertheless and briefly skims through it before folding and sliding it into her sleeve. "Next time _think_ before 'assuming'preposterous things, Lord Ronan," she hisses while readjusting the black fabric on her skin to give her hands something to do, "if it weren't you, I'd probably order a few whiplashes or a cut off finger. I might consider the offer, but I can't guarantee anything." A familiar sickness rises in her stomach.

"My dear Zelda." But the old man doesn't react to her rant. His face is grave. "The war has taken its toll on us, this cannot be denied. Hyrule absolutely needs financial support to get back on track, and that includes trade with the New World."

The queen gives him an angry look; another thing the old buffer graciously ignores.

The serious look on his face is gone as quickly as it had appeared. Suddenly he smiles and touches her arm. "I will see you tomorrow at noon in the music room. The minor fall, the major lift, don't forget to practice that part, Majesty."

He hobbles away, leaving the queen alone with the weight of his words on her shoulders. She touches her wrist, where she's stuffed the piece of parchment under her sleeve. It feels hard against her skin, cold.

Zelda's piano skills are terrible, they always have been. She just lacks the talent. She's been stuck at this one song for months, to the point that she really can't be bothered to hear it anymore, but out of a sudden impulse, she decides to go play anyway. To keep her thoughts busy, to get this whole mess out of her mind.


End file.
